


Salem

by orphan_account



Category: Eurovision Song Contest RPF
Genre: 2009, ESC, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2019-08-26 19:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16687273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The people of Eurovision 2009 are flung back in time for the Salem witch trials... and find themselves being tried for witchcraft.





	Salem

The luminious beams of photon ray light shone through the never ending calasence of the building. The entrants of the Eurovision 2009 contest were waiting for their chance to perfom their songs, to represent their country, to bask in the illuminating light of all that is patriotism, all that is the Eurovision Song Contest. The Eurovision singers where so caught up in their own web of thoughts that they failed to notice the cascading blue spidery light touching everything with its intense citrine tentacles. It was the night, when it happened. The dark sky hung over the land, creating shadowy shapes on the bumpy ground. The celestial satellite which orbits the planet Earth was now in view, and the absence of light from the solar ball meant that the suns of other, more distant galaxies could now be seen too. And all the while, they sat there, taking in their surroundings, the magnificent bands, the elorious singers, the decadent, transicant stage effects. The light shades of leucochroic, turquoise and vermillion used to represent the ex-Communist country, the snow beaten tracks outside, the albicant pearls of ice, glistening, waiting for their chance to come down. And there, in the small room, the Eurovision participants of 2009 waited. Waiting patiently for their chance to show the world, and Europe, just how good they were. But it was a shame they would never get a chance. Ever. In a cruel twist of fate, a flash of cerulean light beamed across the green room, and all the Eurovision singers were violently tossed into an endless void, thrown back, back into a time best forgot.  
Pale pastel, malleable clouds fluttered and drifted endlessly in endecanse, simmering, smokey forms passing through the parched wasteland, floating up towards an azure skyline. The leafy foliage springing up from the desert path, performing the incredible act of photosynthesis, in awe of the great golden orb that we call the sun. It was Next Time who woke up first, getting up on the sandy path, looking around at the strange desert-city. They stood up from the ground, dusting themselves off, and looked at each other. For the first time in many years, the cyan eyes of the pair revealed the one true emotion, fear, fear for what had happened, and fear for what was about to come. They didn't know why they had suddenly been teleported from the Eurovision green room to this empty, arid desert, but they knew it wouldn't be good. The two of them heard rustling in the bushes. This place wasn't as empty as the two of them thought, and they thought perhaps it was a good time for them to go.  
"Let's go," Martin said, tugging on the clothes of his twin brother.


End file.
